


Smells Like Home

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [11]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Scent - Pine. The fluff is evergreen.





	Smells Like Home

You lay under the tree, gazing up at the twinkling lights tangled in the crisscross of thick evergreen branches. A plate of cookies sits between you and Jack. You think he’s humoring you, crawling under the tree like this as you profess to show him the magic of Christmas. If nothing else, the contented munching noises coming from the other side of the trunk suggest he seems to be enjoying the homemade cookies you two spent the afternoon making and decorating. Most of them you delivered to a nearby shelter, but you kept a couple dozen in reserve for the boys.

“It’s very pretty,” he mumbles between bites. “But how is it magic?”

“It just is.” You glance over at him, your smile stretching to illuminate your eyes. “Trust me. You’ll always remember this Christmas.” You want the holiday to be special for him – a fond memory he can draw upon when times grow inevitably darker.

“Okay.” He meets your bright gaze and mirrors your smile before grabbing for another cookie and staring back up into the tree. He may not believe in Santa, or magic, but he believes in you, and you believe in him – in his inherent goodness.

Closing your eyes, the glowing lights glimmer and dance through the delicate skin of your heavy-lashed lids. You inhale the fresh scent of pine needles. The sweet earthen fragrance fills your nose. Your senses conjure and delve into your own memory and suddenly you’re no longer in the bunker. You’re six years old and dreaming of Christmas morning while sneaking a forbidden bite of the sugar cookies left out for Santa. You’re hoping for a peek of the jolly visitor when he delivers his gifts. A bully at school told everyone in class Santa isn’t real, but your father is a hunter, and if the monsters in scary stories are real then you have to believe there’s a good chance Santa is too. As happened then, restive slumber seizes you, a hopeful smile lingering on your lips.

You wake, not in your father’s strong arms as he carries you to bed to tuck you in snug for the night, but in Castiel’s tender embrace.

Softened blue regard on you, he murmurs, “You fell asleep. Under the tree.”

“Jack?” you ask with a yawn.

“Jack, too.” His eyes gleam affectionately as he looks down at you. “Thank you for helping him feel accepted. Feel loved.”

“He _is_ loved.” You smile, snuggling into your angel’s chest and breathing in the clean musky celestial smell of him that is so very much like pine in your mind – a scent that will always magically bring you home no matter where you find yourself – a scent deeply ingrained into your sense of family and togetherness. “You too, angel,” you mumble, sleepy, into his shirt.

Mouth upturning into a smile, he kisses the top of your head. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”


End file.
